


What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

by mysensitiveside



Category: Popular (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysensitiveside/pseuds/mysensitiveside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I almost lost you that night,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think about it and not have it bother me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kauschi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauschi/gifts).



> Based on a prompt on tumblr from kauschi: #33. “Fuck…I feel like I’ve been hit by a car.”

Brooke entered the apartment and dropped her bag to the floor before heading straight to the couch, where she promptly collapsed face first.

“Oof,” she complained. It felt like every single muscle in her body was aching.

At first there was no sign of anyone else in the apartment, other than the soft, comforting sound of fingers typing rapidly on a keyboard.

After several moments, Sam’s voice came from around the corner in the office.

“Hey, how’d it go?” she called out. It sounded like Sam was at least somewhat focused on Brooke—the typing continued, but it did slow down.

Groaning, Brooke shifted around onto her back. “Fuck, I feel like I’ve been hit by a car,” Brooke replied.

The typing stopped.

Brooke didn’t hear the sound of Sam pushing back from her desk and walking quickly to the living room, so she was vaguely surprised when she turned her head to the side and found Sam standing in the open doorway, her posture stiff and her face stricken.

She frowned, confused, and struggled to sit up a bit more. “Hey, what’s—” Then Brooke’s own words echoed back in her mind. She let herself fall back into the couch cushions. “Too soon to joke about that?” she asked with a smirk.

All Sam offered was a terse, “Yes.”

At that, Brooke couldn’t help but laugh, though she quickly broke off with a wince when her sore muscles protested.

“Sam, it’s been almost _ten years_ ,” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, well…” Sam shrugged, and her voice trailed off.

Brooke’s gaze softened. She stretched out an arm towards where Sam still stood. “C’mere,” she murmured, wiggling her fingers. It was the best she could do, for the time being.

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, even as she did move forward and reach out for Brooke’s hand with her own. “I know I’m being stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re incapable of such a thing,” Brooke countered with a smile, squeezing Sam’s hand. Sam went to let go, but Brooke held on. Gently, she added, “That really bothered you, huh?”

Sam shrugged again. Clearly somewhat embarrassed, she looked down to study her feet, but her grip on Brooke’s hand tightened.

“I almost lost you that night,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think about it and not have it bother me.”

“Oh, Sam.” In spite of the subject matter—and Brooke didn’t like to think about it much either, to be honest—Sam’s quiet admission made her feel warm and loved.  “Hey, look at me,” Brooke urged. When Sam looked up and met Brooke’s eyes, Brooke went on, earnestly telling Sam, “You _didn’t_ lose me. Okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She paused and then, in an effort to lighten the mood, she added, “And that’s only partly because my first day of kickboxing _totally_ kicked my ass. You’re going to have to feed me dinner, later. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be incapable of moving off this couch until _maybe_ sometime tomorrow.”

At that, Sam finally smiled. “Is that so, Princess?”—Brooke grinned at the old nickname—“It was a little more demanding than cheerleading, huh?”

“Hey, cheerleading kept me in great shape, back in the day, and don’t tell me you never noticed. And just you wait,” Brooke warned. “I may be completely pathetic right now, but before you know it, I’m going to be _super_ strong.”

Without warning, then, Brooke pulled sharply on Sam’s arm, catching Sam enough by surprise that her tug brought Sam tumbling down into Brooke’s lap.

With their faces now just inches apart, Brooke’s clear eyes locked onto Sam’s as she continued, “And on the bright side, if it weren’t for Nicole’s little bout of road rage, then you might not have ever realized your passionate, deep-seated, never-ending love for me.”

Sam huffed out a short laugh. “There is that,” she conceded with a smirk, before she closed the distance between them, kissing Brooke with an intensity that belied her lighthearted tone.

When they pulled apart, Sam kept her eyes closed and her forehead pressed up against Brooke’s. Brooke remained silent, nuzzling her nose against Sam’s.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Sam finally whispered, holding tightly onto Brooke.

In reply, Brooke angled her face so she could kiss Sam again, just a soft, sweet press of their lips together.

Then Sam breathed in deeply, shaking her head at herself. Something shifted in Sam, and Brooke could practically see the twinkle in Sam’s eyes as she shifted her body to straddle Brooke’s hips.

“So if you’re going to be staying on this couch for the rest of the day, then I guess you’ll need me to take care of you, huh?” Sam asked, one eyebrow raised.

Feeling breathless at the sight of Sam up above her, Brooke could only mutter, “I think you’re the best woman for the job.”

“Well. Then I guess I’ll go get you an ice pack.”

Before Brooke could understand what had even happened, Sam was up and off of her and heading towards the kitchen.

“Hey!” she protested. She sat up, too quickly, only to fall back down again with a wince of pain. Maybe an ice pack wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

Half a minute later, Sam was back, ice pack and dish towel in hand. Brooke glared at her, even as Sam just smiled, wide and innocent. “Was this not what you had in mind?” she asked.

“I hate you,” Brooke replied, causing Sam to laugh.

“No, you love me,” Sam countered happily.

“Lord knows why.”

“I think it’s because I’m such an awesome caretaker.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “I like some methods of care more than others,” she murmured. “Aren’t you the one who likes to brag about her talented fingers?”

A bright blush rose quickly to Sam’s cheeks, but she took the comment in stride, even as she returned to the couch and once again kneeled down with her legs on either side of Brooke’s.

“Why, Miss McQueen,” Sam asked, “are you _propositioning_ me?” She held her open hand over her heart, as if she were scandalized at the thought.

“Asks the woman currently straddling me,” Brooke remarked dryly before she quickly added, “And no, course not. I was only referring to your expert typing skills. What did _you_ have in mind?”

Sam laughed, though her cheeks remained flushed.

Sam opened her mouth to respond, but Brooke had had enough banter for the day. She reached up with both hands and grabbed onto Sam’s shirt, pulling her girlfriend down on top of her.

“You ready to make me feel better, then?” Brooke asked in a hushed whisper.

“See, you _are_ prop—”

“Oh shut up, Sam.”

The ice pack dropped to the floor, forgotten, and neither Sam nor Brooke said anything else for quite some time.


End file.
